Yesterday
by RoseLight
Summary: A dark tale of a melancholy truth. Sometimes motivations are mysteries, and suffering offers no answers.


"YESTERDAY..."

Prologue

She dripped to the door, her auburn hair still damp down her naked back, clutching the towel securely.

"You're-early" she greeted breathlessly. "Welcome home."

"Indeed-" Kuryakin lifted an eyebrow and scanned the condo.

"The kiddies are with Phyllis. They're having supper."

"So...we could have dessert?"

When Illya Kuryakin reflected back to that bittersweet encounter, he replayed everything with a musician's ear, now recognizing that it was all a half-key off. Normally a sensitive man, by nature and profession, his perceptions had often saved his life and his mission. But he was home, with the one he trusted most in the world. Why should he need to be alert to anything but the unexpected pleasure of a daylight romp with his wife?

About 7 p.m. Phyllis gave the warning signal, three short bursts on the ringer, and the Kuryakin kids clambered in.

"We had PIZZA!" Virginia proclaimed, her dark eyes flashing with excitement.

"Pizza!" echoed Natalie. At three years old, she adored her big sister.

They exploded into their parents' arms for hugs. "Run upstairs and start a bath. Daddy will be up soon."

"So much for time alone," he pretended to growl.

"There will be more time alone than you know..." she began in a deadly quiet voice. "Illya, I want you to go upstairs and spend the evening with Natalie and Virginia. Play with them, read to them, sing, hear their prayers, tuck them in. Tomorrow while you are at HQS, I will finish packing and we will be cleared out before you get home."

"Catherine?" Her voice was so flat he was shocked in to believing her. "Catherine, what are you talking about?"

"I'm leaving, Illya. I cannot stay any more."

"Catherine, this is insane. We're married ten years, the girls-"

"I'm sorry, Illya." Sorry, but not shaken.

"Please don't do this. I know my hours at the lab have been long lately. But I left the field for you. I can pass up the promotion. Let someone else wrestle with the damned paperwork. I can-"

"It's not your work."

"Please, give me something to understand. Counseling. We could-"

"You'd better get up to the girls. Once we're settled, I'll contact you so we can arrange details."

# # # # #

"Oh, Mummy, nooo..." Virginia wailed at her approach. "Not bedtime yet. We're having so much fun with Daddy," she pleaded.

She patted her daughter's curly head. "Well, this is a special night, so you may have an extra hour with Daddy. Because tomorrow, you and Nat and Mummy are going on an adventure together. " Catherine was working up enthusiasm in a sing-song voice.

"Daddy too?"

Catherine looked at him for help and Illya refused to make this easy for her. Hell, he did not understand it himself, how was he supposed to explain it to a seven year old?

"No, darling, Daddy has his own adventures."

A heart-wrenching look of fear creased the child's face. "Are you and Daddy getting a divorce?"

"No, Virginia," Illya said firmly, kneeling down to cup her little face in his hands. "Mummy and Daddy are NOT getting a divorce. That I promise, forever and ever."

# # # # #

Catherine was laying in wait for him at the bottom of the stairs. "How could you? " she finally had some pain in her voice. "How could you promise that child? You don't know what is going to happen in the future-"

"It's true. I don't know what's happening now. But I do know clearly what will not happen. There will be no divorce, Catherine." His words were steady and strong.

"I do not need your cooperation-or your consent- in 42 states"

He grimaced. "I've always admired the thoroughness of your research. But I still stand opposed. A-European accommodation, perhaps, if that's the price of preserving the union," he suggested.

"Separate private lives, under the same roof?" she was aghast. "You would countenance that? You care so little?"

Now I've hurt her, and I'm glad, he thought savagely. But he wasn't, not really, and was moved to reach out and cradle her, until he remembered she did not want him to.

"I believe that's my line."

ACT I "Why she had to go, I don't know, she wouldn't say…"

Solo found his partner slumped and unshaven over the breakfast table. "Illya, good grief, I've been beeping you for an hour. Almost burst in here brandishing a weapon that's illegal in 14 states. You've got time off available, but at least call in so-"

Kuryakin's lost eyes met his partner's. "Catherine's gone, Napoleon. She's gone."

"Cat gone! My God, Illya, of course, don't worry-" he whipped out his communicator. "Open channel D, we have a code blue at the lair of the Russian wolf. I need S.I.D. here, priority-"

Illya reached up wearily and took the pen. "This is Wolf. Disregard previous order. Out." He snapped off the connection.

"Illya-?"

"She's gone, Napoleon. No evil genius, no sinister plot. Catherine just…left."

"I can't believe it. What did she say?"

"Remarkably little, actually. I was the one babbling and begging."

Solo tried to understand. "OK, so you had a knock-down, drag-out and she goes to the Plaza for the weekend. She and Phyllis cry, eat a gallon of ice cream, you waltz over with roses, kiss and make up." (Who says you need a degree for marriage counseling?)

Illya sighed. "There was no quarrel. At least not while I was here. Apparently she has been thinking about a change for some time."

"And you don't know What or Where or When or Why or How or Who-uh, is there a Who?"

Catherine's husband was very tired. "I don't know anything anymore."

"Well, we'll find her. Get dressed, we'll head downtown."

The Russian shook his head. "That's not the way we're going to play this. She knows I can trace her anywhere in 20 minutes. She knows that, and she chose to leave any way. If she is that miserable with me..." he could not continue his thought.

Solo persisted. "You need to know. For security. Where do you think she might go?"

"The duchy. It's my first inclination."

"Aberdeen?"

"It's a joke, really, just an old pile of stones now, but, well, that's my first thought. So she's probably not there, because she knows that I would know that-"

Solo shook his head. Marriage was just too complicated.

# # # # #

He met her in a quaint tea shop, in a quiet corner more suited to seduction than marriage counseling. "I appreciate you coming, Cat."

"Napoleon, you really should not get in the middle of this," she posted a no trespassing tone over her private life.

"I am in the middle. I'm his partner (longer than you have been, he wanted to say.) "If the guy is miserable, he does lousy work, it affects world peace."

She cocked her head curiously. "Does he know you're here?"

"I haven't told him, yet."

"Ah, but you will. It's what partners do."

Solo ignored her feelings. "Where have you been? Where are the kids?"

"Fair questions. We took a holiday to Aberdeen. We've settled here now. The address-" she passed him a paper with her neat, precise handwriting.

"I'll give it to him, you know..." Solo warned.

"Of course. He needs to know." She was so very civilized about it all. Solo could not recognize the woman he'd known for years.

"He thought of Aberdeen, first thing."

" Predictable. I needed to get away, but I'd never settle there. Please, Napoleon, I'm not the Wicked Witch here. I'd never take the girls where Illya couldn't reach them." And then she announced primly, with her ever-erect posture, "And I am not-nor have I ever been-seeing anyone. Although I suppose he has me staked out and probably knows that for himself," she had a twinge of bitterness in her voice.

"As a matter of fact," Solo rose to the defense of his partner, "no, he does not know where you, or his children, are. Although he certainly could have traced you easily enough. He just needs to know you're all right."

ACT II "All my troubles seemed so far away..."

ten years ago….

Among the glamorous circle, Illya Kuryakin stood starkly against the wall, devoutly wishing to be Someplace Else. Any Place Else. Napoleon had tricked him into this rare social appearance, calling it a literary soiree.

He sidled step by step by side toward a large flowering tree that half-concealed a hallway. Just a few steps and he would be free.

Except that someone was blocking his exit.

"Quite dreadful, isn't it?" She whispered. "Follow me." The mysterious woman in blue took his hand and led him gracefully and silently around a dark corner.

"You're safe now. Just follow that hall to the fire escape," she pointed.

"I'm grateful, but confused. Aren't you coming?"

"I cahn't," she murmured regretfully. "It's my party."

The Russian hated feeling socially awkward. "You are-"

"Catherine Lamb Gordon," she offered a creamy hand. "Family archivist from the bastard side. Lord Byron, George Gordon, was my great-great-great-great-et cetra grandfather and Caroline Lamb was, well, you know..."

He bowed. "Lady Gordon."

"Oh, my heavens, no. While my side of the family was formally recognized in Great-Great Grandpapa's will, the title follows the legitimate line. I've been fobbed off as a mere Miss."

"I'm charmed."

"So charmed, you're still casting your eyes about, hopelessly gauging your escape," she smiled.

"No, I just...I never come to these things. My friend insisted. He had me expecting a poetry recital by a graying spinster in a dusty library."

"Not my element either, really," she waved dismissively at the glittering ballroom. "But even a paper aristocrat has to collect cash, and my cousin suggested-" his blue-eyed gaze disrupted her concentration. "Um...I have an original portfolio upstairs, if you'd care to wait. I am a spinster, technically, and my room is fearfully dusty. I daresay once I pass the hat the crowd will disperse and we could ring for tea?"

She lay her hand lightly across his arm and smiled softly into his eyes.

It would have been ungallant to refuse.

# # # # #

It was Kuryakin's third transatlantic flight that month, and Solo had threatened to nickname him Froggy if he persisted in hopping across the big pond to conduct his courtship.

"Be fair, Napoleon. She's been here twice-in February. Not exactly prime tourist season in New York."

Solo snorted. "Valentine's Day counts double."

"Besides, it's business. It's deductible. I'm carrying valuable documents to London HQS," the Russian rationalized.

"You're an enforcement agent, not a courier."

Illya was mildly exasperated. "Why are you being so...don't you like Catherine?"

Napoleon answered cautiously. "Cat's a grand gal, there's just-complications-in a long-term relationship in section 2."

"Thanks for the avuncular advice. And if you're concerned that we will ever discover your role in our little romance..."

Solo feigned innocence, but not very well.

"Ah, yes, I can see it now," Illya recounted the story. "You're sipping champagne at Ascot with Louella Winthrope-Gordon-Cousin Lulu-and she mentions her dear cousin, so proud of her work, but the poor gel never leaves the Byron Foundation library. And you snap your fingers and presto, you have a cute, brainy friend who prefers Nachtmusik to nightclubs. But really, Napoleon, a black-tie fundraiser for 300 people at the Plaza-a tad elaborate ruse for a blind date even for you."

Solo shrugged ."Hey, the Foundation got some needed cash, two nice people meet, win-win."

# # # # #

Napoleon flagged down his friend as he approached the airline gate. "Illya, grab your suitcase and turn around. Waverly sent me. We hop the 1AM to Belgrade—" he stopped suddenly. His partner looked...different. Relaxed, and smiling and waving broadly.

"Good evening, so nice of you to meet us," he was towing Catherine Lamb Gordon. "Mr. Solo, meet Mrs. Kuryakin, kiss the bride."

Catherine embraced Napoleon. "We missed you at the ceremony," she whispered into his ear. "But we had to elope, rather quickly."

"Had to-?"

"Yes, it seems Mr. Waverly was a bit put out at Illya's recent travel vouchers..."

"Duty calls, M'dear," and the unrestrained Russian dipped her over backwards for an extended, very public kiss. Then he tossed his keys to her jauntily and waved for his partner to follow him back out to the tarmac.

Within 36 hours the mission was complete, and Illya lay seriously hurt in a Yugoslav field hospital. "He was on his honeymoon," Solo murmured to the medicos.

God, how he dreaded making the call. But Cat listened quietly, no hysterics, no whimpering. "May I speak to him?" she asked in a steady tone.

"I'm sorry, Cat, he's not conscious."

"You'll bring him home to me." It was part prayer, part order, and remained her article of faith for the years her husband remained in the field.

Solo came to admire Illya's bride, with her gallant, cool-in-a-crisis Churchillian upbringing. She made an unusually good agent's wife; she never whined when a sudden assignment disrupted her plans, and she never nagged Illya to settle down and sell insurance.

It was Catherine who found and furnished their amiable apartment. She handed off the Byron Foundation duties to Cousin Lulu ("not the scholar I am, but adores the fundraising") and began to scribble. Soon she published her first children's book as Cate Lamb, in what would become the classic series, the Little Lamb books. Several years later, the Kuryakins began to welcome their own little lambs.

Although Napoleon took the company line regarding family ties for enforcement agents, he had to admit that his partner had become a better agent, more confident since his marriage.

Solo suspected it was the passionate farewells and homecomings that accompanied their missions. But even Illya's attitude had strengthened. Especially after the children were born, as if he now had a personal stake in the outcome of Good -vs-Evil.

Kuryakin finally desked himself into the lab. There were still some long hours, but not the travel nor the torture of field work.

ACT III ..."Now I Need a Place to Hide Away.."

Back to the present

Of all the cruelty and torture he had endured in the field, nothing had prepared him for the anguish of this emotional earthquake. Having survived the immediate rupture of his entire life, it took on an unreal quality, a twilight zone of meaningless work and empty home, week after week.

Illya remained adamantly opposed to any legal separation, yet the physical and emotional separation was unbearable. He retreated into numbness, preferring it to the anger and bitterness which, once released, he did not believe he could control.

He still saw the girls every day, and made certain Virginia had memorized his phone numbers. He still did not understand any of this: how his life could be turned upside down without any explanation. Catherine was cool but unfailingly courteous on the phone (damned British good manners!) while his peasant blood was boiling to bellow and yank her hair. To be the emotional one in the relationship was an uncomfortable fit for the stoic agent.

As Hamlet once described, Life was " weary, stale, and flat." It should have alerted him.

# # # # # #

The call interrupted him at the lab. "Kuryakin."

"Daddy..." Virginia gulped. "Daddy, will you come get us?"

She sounded awful. "Lambie, where are you? What's wrong?"

"In my room, at Mummy's"

"Where's Nat?"

"I brought her in my room and locked the door. I told her to color you a picture."

"That was very bright, my little Lamb. Where is your mother?" He tried to keep a level tone, although he was irritated with Catherine for upsetting the girls.

"She's in her room and she's crying and crying and she can't stop. Please come, Daddy…"

"I'm on my way. Just stay in your room and you'll be fine. I'll stay on the line and talk to you on my way. Tell me about school…" and he let the child babble to distract her. He pushed a button to alert Solo that he was leaving the building at once and sped toward the west side.

Kuryakin jammed the spare key into the lock and turned the knob. "Virginia, that's Daddy at the door. Let me in your room, Dear- heart." Little hands pulled open the door and clung to him. He could hear the mournful wail rising from Catherine's room. What was she thinking of?

Illya made a quick inspection of the girls then told them to wait for him right there.

He rapped smartly at his wife's door. "Catherine, what is it? What's wrong? Let me in."

"Noooo..." she cried. "No, Illya, go away..."

"Catherine, you are frightening the girls," he said firmly. "Open this door, now!"

"Noo… I can't. I can't. You don't understand. Go away!"

Solo pushed through the front door. "Illya, what's up?"

"Hell if I know." He dismissed his wife impatiently. " She's howling in there, scaring the girls.. ." He took a deep breath and counted to 5. "Catherine, please let me in. I want to help." And it occurred to him that for the first time in weeks, he meant it.

Her wailing continued. "No, Illya, please, please go away. I can't, I can't, please..."

He put his shoulder to the door and rammed it.

"Don't!" she warned sharply. He rammed the door again and this time there was silence, then a crack of a small pistol.

"My God, Catherine!" Illya shot open the lock but Napoleon grabbed his shoulders.

"Illya! Get those kids out of here, now!"

Kuryakin's training responded to the snapped order and he turned abruptly away, his partner shouldering past him into the bedroom.

Her delicate body was crumpled in the corner.

# # # # #

Illya took the children to his home and settled them into their familiar beds. They were frightened and exhausted and fell asleep at once.

Illya was haunted and got no sleep for days.

Napoleon recovered the tiny, deadly pistol, called in the clean-up crew, and waited for the paramedics.

Illya contacted Sir Ian McGregor, the Gordon family retainer.

"We're so sorry, Sir. We had hoped…that is, you seemed so good for her, and we hoped it would skip a generation, but-well, the Lambs were all quite mad, you know, and the Gordons, well..." the shrug carried in his voice across the transatlantic cable.

# # # # #

Dr. Theodore Mason, M.D., Ph.D., UNCLE

Taped session #1

4/18/75

Illya Kuryakin, Section 2 -Inactive status

Notes to follow

Dr: Why are you here, Mr. Kuryakin?

IK: Mr. Waverly has required some sessions before I return to full time status.

Dr: Do you think you need help?

IK: Pass. Next question.

Dr: Do you think your marriage was a failure?

IK: The woman killed herself rather than live with me. Yes, I would consider that a failure.

Dr: And you do not like failure?

IK: I have never liked failure. Not on the field, not in the lab. It reflects a lack of control.

Dr: And what could you have done to change that situation?

IK : I could have noticed she was troubled. I could have insisted on counseling. I could have not knocked down the bloody door. I could have agreed to the bloody divorce.

Dr: Bloody?

IK: An English curse, Doctor. Not literal, I assure you.

Dr: You are drinking more than usual.

IK: Thank-you-Napoleon. Yes, I am drinking more than usual. No, it is not affecting my work. It is a temporary coping mechanism. It helps me sleep.

Dr: You drink yourself unconscious?

IK: No, I can't do that! The girls-I just use it to depress the central nervous system

ACT IV "There's a shadow hangin' over me…."

"Teddy, how about some coffee?"

"Napoleon, if it's coffee or company, you're welcome. If it's an interrogation about your pal, you know that's privileged," warned the UNCLE psychiatrist.

"Coffee, company, concern, conversation..." Napoleon pursued him. "Seriously, Teddy, I don't want you to bend your ethics, but I'm CEA and I need to know. In general, how is he?"

"I've studied his records, we've had a few sessions. Healing takes time. There's no short cut through grief and guilt. Your friend is suffering."

Illya set down his tray. "Gentlemen, don't stop talking on my account- Unless you're talking on my account." He looked pointedly at Dr. Mason. "That's a weak joke, Doctor, not paranoia."

Mason refilled his coffee mug. "I'll see you guys later. I've got to go cure a schizoid in Section 5," and he whistled all the way down the hall.

"Who do you suppose it is?" Solo wondered out loud.

"They're all nuts in Section 5," Illya replied darkly.

"Speaking of nuts, how are you?"

Kuryakin scowled. "The Good Doctor has not kept you informed?"

"Teddy Mason is a professional and a friend. He wouldn't break your confidence. Lord knows I pumped him enough," Solo admitted in frustration.

Illya sighed. "Constance McCoy is holding everything together. She's been with us for years. Cath-she worked two days a week. The girls know and like her, so we've arranged for full-time. She cooks and cleans and even colors with the girls. Just like a wife, but without the untidy emotional investment."

"How are the girls?"

"Late last night, I heard Virginia crying. She misses her mother. I told her she could always come to me, but she said no, because it makes me too sad. I told her it was all right, we could be sad together." He rubbed his hands over his face. "My motherless seven-year-old is trying to protect me." He took a deep breath. "I thought the girls were too young to understand, that they would get over this...Damn Catherine! How could she leave me to raise our little girls alone?"

Solo began awkwardly. "She was probably in too much despair to realize-"

"Do not defend my wife to me!"

He backed off quickly. No matter what anyone said to Kuryakin these days, it was always wrong.

Solo tried another track. "I haven't seen much of Virginia and Natalie lately. How about I take them to the zoo Saturday, and trust you to your own devices for a few hours?"

"I can manage my own children, thank you."

"Well, maybe they can't manage you any more!" Solo had had enough. " Look, no hidden agenda here. I just thought, they're kids, they'd like to go to the zoo. Maybe ice cream after."

"Sorry, sorry, Napoleon. God, I'm apologizing all over myself lately, pushing away the people I need most. Sorry. I'm sure the girls will be delighted."

Virginia and Natalie were ready and waiting for Uncle Napoleon when he arrived. Virginia had been unusually remote and sombre. As the elder, she felt their loss deeply. She could not comprehend why Mummy did not want to stay with them any more. She tried so hard to be good, to keep Natalie good, so Daddy would not leave them, too.

# # # # #

When Kuryakin met the trio at the door, it was nearly twilight. "Thank your Uncle Napoleon, Girls." It was his duty now to drill them in manners.

"Thank you, Uncle Napoleon," they chorused, and curtsied, and ran giggling to their room.

"Thank you, Uncle Napoleon," Illya echoed. "It's been too long since I heard them laugh."

He gestured to the table and they sat down. He noticed Solo's eyebrows rise at the sight of the large mug.

"Coffee. And just coffee. You can sip it if you like."

Solo declined. "I have always trusted you. So what occupied you while we were out petting the tigers?"

"I…um-cleaned out some of her things. Everything just got packed away after-there's stuff the girls should have someday, stuff that needs to be tossed. I found her diaries."

"Any answers?"

"It explains some things. Other things I'll never understand. But there's a measure of peace now, some share of forgiveness. Virginia, Natalie..." he called. "Look what Daddy found today. Some pretty pictures of Mummy. Why don't you each pick one for your room, and we'll get a lovely frame..."

And Napoleon Solo knew his friend's healing had begun.

# # # # #

continue to "All God Gifts" for the conclusion

:


End file.
